


The Tahl Tapes

by Temve



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: BDSM, Dominant Obi-Wan Kenobi, F/M, M/M, Soft Obi-Wan Kenobi, Submissive Qui-Gon Jinn, Tahl Totally Tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29165589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temve/pseuds/Temve
Summary: Obi-Wan had been vaguely aware that Master Tahl had been issued a seeing-eye droid by the Council. However, he was not at all prepared for some of the things it had seen.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Tahl (Star Wars)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Qui-Gon/Tahl Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outpastthemoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outpastthemoat/gifts).



> Inspired by Outpastthemoat’s challenge to write more QuiTahl - this is actually my first piece of het in 20 years. I am frankly amazed at how easy it is to keep your characters straight (hah!) when they have different _pronouns_. 
> 
> Also inspired by a WIP sketch from Dooku that has nothing to do with QuiTahl but provided a delicious visual for the second ‘Tahl Tapes’ scene that poor Obi-Wan discovers.
> 
> The second chapter is entirely Ell's fault - you're my inspiration in general, dear, but this time you gave me actual plot points so thank you!
> 
> Also also, really, there is no QuiTahl _smut_ on this archive? Well... now there is.

“A Jedi lives to serve.” 

Yes, that was _actually_ what Obi-Wan had said in response to Bant’s well-timed question. She had mimed slapping him across the face over the comm channel and told him that no, that was what droids were for in this case, and really she just wanted the company while she packed up her few personal things in preparation for moving to a Knight’s quarters.

Which was how, two days later, Obi-Wan found himself fresh off a mission, standing forlornly in a mostly-empty room with his childhood friend and a large moving crate balanced atop a hovercart.

Most of Bant’s material possessions seemed to consist of a small stack of electronics that she insisted on leaving out of the crate, and various textiles of indeterminate shape and material, which she was throwing into the crate in a similarly indeterminate fashion and, evidently, expecting Obi-Wan to do the same.

“Yeah, I don’t really know why they make me even move other than to keep everyone neatly lined up in their little boxes. I mean, it’s not like my commute to the Halls of Healing is going to be noticeably different as a Knight.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Must feel nice to be home every night, mh?”

Bant shrugged. “Depends. Sometimes I would love to be half a galaxy away from the Masters making my life difficult.” She stopped mid-throw and grinned. “Speaking of which… how’s your… pursuit going, Obi-boy?”

“My what?”

Bant gave him her best Healer stare, the one usually reserved for particularly recalcitrant patients. “Your life-size crush on your former Master, you lovable idiot. You’ve been a Knight for how long now - five months?”

“Four and a half.” Obi-Wan bit his lip.

“And?” 

“What ‘and’? There is no ‘and’... those few weeks that I haven’t been running around the galaxy on solo missions, we’ve basically been… like we never stopped being Master and Padawan. And…”

Bant cocked her head. “So there is an ‘and’.”

“Well, yeah. Not a good one though. You know how at first I thought maybe it was just that he wasn’t interested in men, or… no. Really, I mean, I thought that Master Tahl was _it_. Love of his life, and nobody could follow her. And I suppose I could have lived with that.”

Bant moved in closer, laying one cautious hand on Obi-Wan’s arm. “I sense there’s not just an ‘and’ but also a ‘but’.”

“There is.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I found out a few weeks back that he _has_ been seeing people. In that way. I mean, I suppose I should have known it, living with him all those years but he was pretty discreet and I was… let’s just say trying not to let on does take a lot of your focus.”

“And your focus determines your reality.” Bant ducked quickly under Obi-Wan’s playful punch. “Sorry, Obi. That’s… a bad place to be in,” she finished diplomatically. “And I take it you have made some sort of advances?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “I should think so. When I got him to blush for the first time I thought I was home free… but then he withdrew like a hermit crab, like I’d touched something that he was embarrassed about. When I _know_ he has sex. Willingly. Just not with me.”

Bant sighed. “Masters. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

Obi-Wan nodded morosely. “I suppose I should be glad he’s at least around and available for tea… unlike Master Tahl. Or the pair they sent on that horrid mission to Naboo that we were supposed to go on. At least I have the opportunity to _talk_ with him.” He sighed. “Sorry. I promise I’ll be my usual snarky self again some day.”

“We might have to get you laid first,” Bant observed wryly. “Preferably under a certain tall and long-haired idiot by the name of Jinn.”

“Preferably before he takes his next Padawan,” Obi-Wan rejoined darkly. “I can’t even imagine navigating around a kid. And he’s been seen hanging around the creche getting climbed all over by the younglings. Because who wouldn’t, given the opportunity?” He snorted sadly.

“Time’s short, then,” Bant agreed. “We need a battle plan. You free tonight? For tea? I should have most of this stuff squared away by then, and scheming sounds like the perfect housewarming activity.”

“Sure,” Obi-Wan agreed, without much enthusiasm. “This actually yours?” He pointed at a large-ish hoverdroid parked in the deepest recesses of Bant’s closet.

“Oh kriff. I’d forgotten about that one. Uhh… I don’t really know what to do with it. It just seemed right to keep it at the time?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Something to do with Master Tahl?”

“Yes,” Bant said simply. “This was Too-Jay. You know, the seeing-eye droid that the Council insisted she keep around, for emergencies? She hated that thing, and when she passed into the Force, I didn’t have the energy to bother with it. I suppose nobody’s asked about it in the years since then so... if you’re after a mostly-blank sensor array and a mechanical servant, you might as well take it.”

“I’m not sure I qualify for ‘mechanical servant’ -”

“Master Tahl used it to play audiodramas for a while. When she was no longer able to keep watching movies before bed for obvious reasons. Maybe there’s a bit of entertainment left in its databanks for you. Once you’ve spent a few decades charging it, of course.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “If it costs me too much of my precious sanity, I’ll just donate it to the droid shop for spare parts. Or apprentice mechatronic training.”

“Works for me,” Bant said with a smile. “Tell you what, I think I’ve got this hovercart load - you go ahead and take Too-Jay to its new home. And I’ll see you in a few hours for tea and strategizing.”

“It’s a date. Thanks, Bant.”

***

Tinkering with an unknown droid, Obi-Wan thought, was just as good a way of spending the unstructured hours of his Temple leave as any; normally, he would have wandered down to the gardens or the Archive or possibly put himself on the roster in the training salles, for anyone keen to cut their teeth on a newly minted Knight.

With Master Jinn off-planet on a mission of his own, Obi-Wan had relatively little interest in the other thousands of souls flickering about the Temple. So he might as well commune with some silicon and see if it held any entertainment. 

It took a little bit of judicious rigging to get the droid connected to a power source, and Obi-Wan was sure Qui-Gon would have had choice words for his use of bare wiring, but Qui-Gon wasn’t here, and Obi-Wan made sure to keep his hands away from that side of the droid once he’d had it responding to the steady trickle of electrons coming down the wire. 

Once it had signaled alertness with a series of beeps and blinks, it was only a matter of time before he’d had it connected to his datapad to show the directory structure of whatever had survived several years of hibernation in Bant’s closet.

There were indeed several media files that looked large enough to be movies, though none of the file names were decodable into anything that made sense as a commercial entertainment product or something checked out of the Archive. They were more like random gibberish. Possibly timestamps generated by the droid’s own OS. Not promising in terms of readable content, but Obi-Wan fed one into his datapad’s command line anyway, with a view to hopefully getting it displayed as a visual.

What he saw unfolding on the screen was not so much a visual as an eyeful. No, a full-on assault on his senses.

_It’s just a recording, Kenobi. She can’t see you._

Then he shook his head, because Master Tahl hadn’t been able to _see_ him for most of the time he had known her. Still, it felt a little wrong, even years after her passing, to catch yourself staring at most of her nude body as she slowly walked backwards from where the droid’s camera was recording what appeared to be a wide-angle view of her quarters.

In truth, Obi-Wan would have shut off that particular recording out of pure respect for Master Tahl’s propriety. If it hasn’t been for the glimpse of what became visible behind her slender, chai-skinned figure.

There, in the middle of the room, kneeling on the floor in a similar state of shameless nudity, was none other than Master Jinn. Thighs splayed wide, heavy sex hanging between them, already filling, and Obi-Wan couldn’t stop staring, his gaze torn between the wanton display of Jinn’s body and the way Master Tahl was evidently enjoying it, even without the use of her eyes.

“You smell amazing, Qui.” She inhaled deeply, crowding into him, one hand in his hair, the other roaming around his face as he nuzzled into her thigh. “You’re so ready for this, aren’t you boy?”

“Fuck yes,” came the muffled response, Qui-Gon’s voice already rough with arousal. A quick tightening of Tahl’s hand in his hair made him jerk, blue eyes flying open for a second before drifting shut again in demure pleasure. “Sorry. Fuck yes, _Master_.”

“Better.” Tahl chuckled softly. “You know what this is, right boy?” She ran a slender finger along a gold-colored ribbon that appeared to be looped tightly around Qui-Gon’s throat, tied off with a flourish, loose ends trailing along one collarbone.

“Your collar, Master.” Qui-Gon swallowed thickly, the movement making the ribbon shift against his sensitive skin. His lips parted as if in anticipation. 

“Quite,” she replied softly. “But do you know what _this_ is?” She flicked a fingertip against a tiny metal bauble hanging from the ribbon in front. 

“P-permission to touch?” Qui-Gon’s brows had drawn together in concentration.

“You may,” Tahl purred. “Good job for remembering to ask. Tonight, you may touch any part of me or any object in this room, as long as you keep those paws off yourself, boy.”

Gingerly, Qui-Gon ran two fingertips along the small object on his collar, avoiding touching his own skin as directed. His frown relaxed a little, but he remained silent. 

“No?” Tahl prompted sweetly, one hand still fisted in his hair. “Shall I enlighten you?”

“Please.” He cast his eyes down and placed his hand behind his back once more, the picture of perfect submission. 

“This is a simple infrared beacon,” Tahl said. “Not powerful enough to cause a sensation of heat that you would be able to feel over the noise of your own hotness, but enough to be picked up by Too-Jay. I’ve instructed it to keep a perimeter of one meter above ground, and to raise a rather unpleasant alarm if that perimeter gets breached.” She petted the top of his head. “Which means you are not to get up off your knees tonight, boy.”

Qui-Gon nodded, the movement transmitting through Tahl’s hand on his head. “Good boy,” she said. “I’m sure I will find ways of making it worth your while.”

Stepping behind him, she pulled his head back slightly, leaning into his solid kneeling form as she ran one foot along his thigh, petting the curls of his pubes with her toes. “Judging from your scent I’d say you’re more than ready,” she murmured, then pulled her foot away as if scalded upon making contact with his by now fully erect cock. “Oh, you are. Take care you don’t leak all over my nice floor, will you?”

“No, Master.”

“Jedi self-control.” Tahl sighed happily. “Sometimes I don’t even want to know how others manage. Anyway, come get your prize whenever you’re ready, boy.”

With that, she strode over towards the bed, threw herself over its foot end like a high jumper and sprawled invitingly, one long leg trailing on the floor, the other propped up on the footboard.

Obediently keeping his hands behind his back, Qui-Gon scooted forward on his knees, erection bobbing obscenely as he knee-walked his way to the foot of the bed, his promise of not leaking all over the floor already perilously close to being broken with a bead of clear pre-come glistening at the tip of his cock. He licked his lips expectantly, apparently uncertain of his next move.

“What are you waiting for, boy? Give me that dirty mouth of yours.”

“Sorry, Master.” The last syllable already muffled by her flesh, Qui-Gon leaned forward to bury his face between Tahl’s thighs.

“That’s right,” she drawled happily. “Oh… slowly, boy. I know you’re eager but… ooph. Just tongue for now… oh, good. Show me what you can do, Jinn. Get me so fucking worked up I’ll come from the beard burn alone. Yesss, that’s it.”

For a few long minutes, the only sounds in the room were happy little sighs from Tahl and increasingly urgent shuddering breaths as Qui-Gon tried to rein in his own arousal, the tip of his tongue trailing maddening feather-light sensation over Tahl’s flesh, again and again tapping her clit until she shuddered and thrust her hips forward into his face with a groan. 

“Make… me… come,” she gritted out, “now.”

And Qui-Gon was only too happy to obey, burying his nose in her curls with no regard for his own need to breathe, fully focused on bringing her to the point of no return, sucking and nibbling and licking greedily until she let go, shuddering through a sharp spasming orgasm, the joyful noise of her pleasure drowning out the deliciously muffled sounds of his.

She struggled to lean up on her elbows, as if she could still see him kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed, mouth ringed with her juices and smiling that lopsided smile of his and all but purring with need.

“You _are_ leaking, Jinn,” she said sharply, amusement evident in her voice. “I can _smell_ you. Having a good time, are we, boy?”

“Oh yes.” His voice was thick with arousal and pleasure. “Always, for you.”

She laughed, a short melodious burst of mirth. “You know, Jinn, I bet you say that to all of them. I can just picture you whoring yourself to any even remotely attractive being who would be willing to put you on your knees. And maybe one day I will let you. And sit back and… listen. Make you describe every sensation that’s being pumped into you, every little pinprick of pain and pleasure until you run out of words and you’re reduced to just moans. And you moan so beautifully, Jinn. It’s one of your natural talents.”

A soft exhale, just a little bit of voice. Almost a moan, right there.

“See? Hold that thought, boy. For now I’m not done. Yes, you’ve made me greedy, and you have another natural talent that I can’t get enough of. Use your hands, boy. Slip those big blunt fingers inside and see what you’ve wrought… uh… that’s it.”

Even if the expression of delight on Qui-Gon’s face hadn’t been enough of a clue, the small wet noise as he slipped first one, then two fingers into Tahl’s welcoming flesh was more than enough evidence that he was wanted there. Gently settling the thumb of his other hand on her clit, Qui-Gon set to work, pumping lazily in and out, relishing the sounds and scent of Tahl’s desire, the wet warmth of her body enveloping his fingers.

“Mmmmmh,” she purred happily. “I could just lay here and take that forever. Must be a wonderful way to fall asleep with you petting my insides, boy. Although I wonder sometimes… mmmh… how much you’d like it if I did the same to you, mmh?”

A soft groan from Qui-Gon, who closed his eyes and clearly released _something_ into the Force. 

Tahl giggled. “I knew it. Better be ready next time, Jinn. I’m going to have to sneak to the Halls of Healing and equip myself properly. Mmmmh, yes. Glove up and go exploring. Good thing my hands are so small, hm Jinn?” She folded one up into a suggestive spindle shape, and Qui-Gon’s eyes went wide and his cock twitched. There was a hitch in his rhythm that made Tahl grunt in amusement before he picked up the pace, adding another finger and rubbing tight circles around her clit with his other thumb in an effort to silence her into moans of pleasure.

It wasn’t working entirely as planned. There were still words between those moans, and those words went straight to his cock.

“Can you imagine, Jinn? My hand wrist deep in you, massaging that… guh… that sweet spot and fucking _punching_ orgasms out of you until you’re dry? Fuck… yes!” Her voice quivered with the effort to rein in her approaching orgasm. “Because you love to be fucked, don’t you boy, and hard… put on your knees and made to take it all like a good... aaaah! Yes fuck yes! More!”

For a few long moments, there was nothing to be heard but mindless syllables of wild delight, Tahl riding Qui-Gon’s hand with clenching fervor until she collapsed back on the bed, a laughing mess of tears and sweat and jumbled sensation.

A small shriek of overstimulation as Qui-Gon pulled his fingers from her wet folds, her legs wrapping around him reflexively as he rested his head on her still-twitching flesh.

“Good?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Excellent, my boy. Very satisfying.” She stretched luxuriantly, pulling him tighter into the vise of her legs. “Something you would like, boy?”

“Yes… Master.” 

“What?” Tahl’s voice was soaked with lazy lust, warm and dark like her skin. 

“Please, Master… may I come?” The edge of desperate need in Qui-Gon’s voice was too delicious, and every breath of his carried that slight undertone of want in it, a barely-there moan underscoring every exhale. 

“Yes.” Warm rich dominance in that voice. “Can you come without touching yourself? Just from imagining what I’m going to do to you next time, boy? Can I make you come all over yourself like a randy Padawan, hot for Master… oh, I can, can’t I?” She smirked. “I can _smell_ you, Jinn. Let me hear you too.”

The groan sounded like it came up from the base of Qui-Gon’s spine, low and filled with urgent need, choked off as Qui-Gon spurted a hot splash of seed on to the bed’s footboard before going limp in the strong embrace of Tahl’s thighs, soft moans garnishing every breath until nothing remained but a deep satisfied rumble.

“Good boy,” Tahl purred. “So good for me. Coming hands-free. I think you’ve earned your spot as my blanket for the night, mh? Crawl up here like a good boy, will you?”

As the naked, collared Qui-Gon gratefully clambered up on the bed to lay on top of his lover, Obi-Wan realized, much to his dismay, that he had absolutely followed his Master in, uh, coming hands-free.

There was a definite mess in the front of his leggings and a light-headedness inside him that spoke of satisfied lust and the sudden realization of… possibility.

There _would_ be scheming tonight, over tea. Lots of scheming.

And Master Jinn’s welcome back to the Temple would be rather different than he probably expected.

For a start, the word ‘Master’ would not be on _Obi-Wan’s_ lips.


	2. Chapter 2

There had been scheming, and sighing, and deep discussions, and giggling, and research notes overflowing the paper scrap Obi-Wan had started out on because it felt weird to input that sort of thing into his datapad still, even though there was no Master with an emergency override code any more. There had been a permanent hot eager blush that Obi-Wan was sure had still not entirely faded from his cheeks.

There had also been a whole new level of appreciation for the kind of information a Jedi Healer apparently had access to.

And so, Obi-Wan found himself on an undercover mission to learn what Bant had referred to as ‘the ropes’, which was apparently what ‘the scene’ actually called it. 

Obi-Wan had been the one to insist that research was necessary if he were to even attempt to turn his hazy urgent fantasies of claiming and fucking and the unbearable hotness of seeing Qui-Gon on his knees for him… if all that was to be made reality, he _needed_ to know what he was doing. For his Master’s sake. 

And so he had shucked his robe and outer tunic, thought long and hard about leaving his lightsaber behind and then chose not to, and borrowed liberally from Bant’s recently moved collection of assorted textiles. He wasn’t sure that the item that was currently draped across his shoulders and torso had started life as a sort of poncho-cum-cloak, but that was what it was currently functioning as, and the fact alone that it was several bright shades of purple and green served perfectly to distract from the fact that underneath was a Jedi Knight.

An extremely nervous Jedi Knight.

An extremely nervous Jedi Knight who found himself nonplussed at the realization that the door to the establishment would just swing open like the most mundane shop entrance. And that inside was no hulking Wookiee door guard, or a barely-lit, smoke-filled cavern of sin.

Indeed, the first word that sprang to mind was _receptionist_. 

Seated behind a small desk equipped with a state-of-the-art comm terminal and a small stack of understated filing boxes that gave off the appearance of actually containing _files_ of some kind, a middle-aged humanoid whose hair may or may not have started out naturally silver to match her eyes flicked a smile at him.

“What can I help you with, Ser Jedi?”

Bam, first blush of the evening. Not good. “Uh… the first thing would be not calling me that. That would be really helpful.” He smiled shakily. “I’m here as a private citizen.”

“Certainly. What would you prefer me to call you, then, sir?” She seemed thankfully unfazed by his insecurity.

“Ben will do,” Obi-Wan replied. 

“Wonderful. So, _Ben_ , what service does the House of the Half-Moons have the pleasure of rendering you tonight?”

“Um, I was recommended a lady by the name of Madame Buhn,” he said. “My... friend and she are professionally acquainted, and she commed ahead - I mean, sorry. My friend is a Healer, not a colleague of Madame -”

The receptionist laughed sweetly. “Completely understand. Madame Buhn is actually booked for tonight… oh, wait. This might actually be you, except my bumbling daytime colleague completely failed to note down the name.” She tsked several times. “Do the words ‘Tahl’s boy’ mean anything to you?”

“Certainly do,” Obi-Wan replied.

The receptionist’s smile broadened. “Well, then Tahl’s boy Ben, have a seat while I comm Madame Buhn to let her know her client’s here.”

“Uh - one more thing?”

“Yes?” She paused, finger halfway to the control panel on her desk.

“Tahl’s boy is not me. I’m here to learn how to handle him.”

“ _Oh._ ” She raised an eyebrow and gave him a whole new appraising look. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a dominant at all.”

***

Madame Buhn welcomed Obi-Wan to her rooms with an amicable smile, and to Obi-Wan’s continued surprise, her own appearance was by far the most exotic thing about the room they were currently in, arranged in relative comfort on a modernist armchair (Madame Buhn) and a matching smaller guest chair (Obi-Wan).

She was a tall and broad-shouldered Noorian with deep burnt-orange skin, striking gold-striped eyes and a closely cropped head of thick gray hair that stood up above her forehead in spikes that matched the vestigial horns crowning her forehead.

“I can see what you’re thinking, Ben. And the answer is probably ‘yes’.” She grinned a sharp-toothed grin. “Name’s Madame Buhn Uvain, technically intersex but if I had to pick a common gender to pass as, being a Mistress beats being a Master when one looks like the genetic mess I am.”

“Uvain…?” Obi-Wan swallowed. “I knew a Noorian by that name.”

“I’m sure you do,” Buhn laughed. “And if you knew more Noorians, you’d probably know a whole lot more by that name. It’s a lineage name, Ben, and it means ‘last’. Usually given to a youngest sibling when they reach maturity, or, if the parents are extra forceful, to an only child at birth. As was the case with me since, you know, my mother wasn’t actually _intending_ to bear a Zabrak space pirate’s child. Or really have sex with him in the first place.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’ve made my peace with it - and found possibly the only profession where horns are an advantage. Especially if you pass as female. Exotic, that’s me.” She preened and laughed a deep warm laugh that reminded Obi-Wan incongruously of Qui-Gon. “Anyway, enough about me. What brings _you_ here?”

“I… was told you would be a good teacher for a novice dominant with a lot of ideas and dreams but very little actual practical experience. Who may or may not be about to inherit a very special submissive.” The words still tasted strange in his mouth, but that was what the outside world would label them: dominant, and submissive. The fact that he had spent half his life referring to Qui-Gon as ‘Master’ only complicated things.

“Congratulations,” Buhn said cheerfully. “And your submissive… are they experienced?”

“He,” Obi-Wan replied. “He is… very comfortable in what he’s doing. And older than me, so I think it’s safe to say yes to that. I want to make it good for him.”

“So he sent you here to learn the ropes as it were?”

“Uhm… something like that, yes. I would like to get at least a little more of a, uh, hands-on introduction before I dive in headfirst. You know, things I can’t read up on in reference books.”

“Admirable.” Buhn nodded sagely. “I suggest we start with the obligatory risk-awareness piece. That’s mostly a conversation so we can totally do that in here. And then I suggest we move next door to the playspace so you can try on some actual ropes as it were. Now, we won’t get you to full-on mastery in just a few hours, so if you had dreams of suspending your sub in an artful web of rope, that will have to wait - and I’m glad I’m being funny but care to share the joke, Ben?”

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan tried in vain to keep in the giggles that were threatening to burst his sides. “Tall.” He caught his breath and used a touch of the Force to release his inappropriate amusement into the Force. “For some reason, imagining him hanging from _anything_ in a standard-height room… the face he’d make… yeah no.” He let out another involuntary guffaw. “Sorry.”

Buhn smirked. “If you ever change your mind about that part, there is the option of renting just the playspace, you know. Without me in it. I’m sure it’s going to be tall enough to give your overgrown sub a nice swing session… anyway. Follow me please, and then let’s get our hands on a few tools of the trade.”

***

The next few hours had passed in a blur of information, consultation, and sensation; Obi-Wan had expressly requested that no other person be present so naturally the task of experiencing the safe and effective method of restraining a human body fell on him. And much though he enjoyed some of the sensations, especially the ones that actually gently redirected blood flow to more sensitive areas of his body, the image in the back of his mind was always of Qui-Gon and how he would react to having his limbs artfully restrained before being taken in hand by a dominant fully intent on his pleasure.

The best thing was, he didn’t have to use his imagination all that much. He had _files_. Files that were playing in his memory even as he traveled back to his quarters at the Temple.

While the memory bank of the old seeing-eye droid had not been full even by the standards of near-decade-old technology, and some of the files had actually resisted opening, there were a few favorites that Obi-Wan eagerly replayed, the second night in a row.

All right, one in particular, now that he had an idea of what he was doing with basic rope ties and… other, more specific restraints.

***

In a way, it made it even more intimate, even more sensual, to watch Tahl _feel_ her way along Qui-Gon’s limbs, mapping every sinew and joint, delineating where the man began and ended, only to emphasize that newly gained knowledge with determined loops of rope. Every time she pulled a knot taut, a warm dark smile spread across her features, and Obi-Wan wondered just how obvious it was to her that Qui-Gon was watching her intently, soaking up her every expression as she bound his body.

At first, they had still been at eye level - whatever that meant for a blind woman, but she seemed to be cognizant of exactly where Qui-Gon’s face was and gloried in touching it as much as possible, from a casual brush of the back of her hand against his cheek to a determined thumb rubbing across his lips and parting them on a soft gasp. 

She had slunk around to his back and wrapped his forearms in a tight rope embrace, pulled high on his back until he was beginning to bend forward instinctively. She had gone with the movement and guided him gently but firmly to the floor.

Those two seconds of Qui-Gon going fluidly to his knees… Obi-Wan had replayed them several times over, and was debating making a loop image file.

By the time he had recovered from the magic of Qui-Gon going down into perfect proud submission, Tahl had picked up the ropes she had attached to the legs of the bed beforehand, and looped them around the tie holding Qui-Gon’s arms high on his back, around his shoulders and the base of his neck, and back to the other side of the bed. Specifically, down on the floor.

Qui-Gon was effectively tied down. He could have laid down or squirmed into a more comfortable position if his knees gave out, but he could not have gotten up. And he seemed to relish that thought, blue eyes gazing reverently up at Tahl, lips parted, poised on the edge of saying something or doing something, and yet just sinking into the moment in a way that was awesome to behold, and familiar only to those who had experienced the force of nature that was Qui-Gon Jinn. 

The force of nature surrendered completely and willingly, and that was an even more awesome sight to behold. 

The sound of Tahl’s voice as she admonished him for being overly eager always shocked Obi-Wan out of his reverie, but what followed… he hadn’t yet managed to quiet himself enough to actually hear Qui-Gon’s deep breathing as she slipped the steel ring over his hardening cock, giving it an affectionate squeeze and drawing a small moan from him.

“You know what this means, Qui. You get hard, you’ll feel it.”

“Yes, Master.” The surrender in his voice was complete, and devastatingly powerful. 

The things Buhn had said about the submissive really being the one in control started making sense now…

Not that Tahl seemed to mind at all. She exuded comfortable control as she pulled her hoverchair to herself, the one she usually kept parked in front of the comm terminal. Naked as she was, she sat down, one leg across the other, sliding casually closer until the scent of her arousal made Qui-Gon groan.

“Something you want, boy?” She sounded amused, tickling her bound lover’s beard with her toes, before playfully shoving her entire foot under his chin and tilting it up. 

“Yes,” Qui-Gon breathed. “Please.”

“What would that be?” Tahl sounded amused, pleased; sounded like everything Obi-Wan felt. Everything he longed to be. “Use your words, boy.”

“I want to worship you,” he said softly. “With my mouth.”

“Hmmmm…” A wicked smile spread across her dark features. “Why don’t you start right where you are, boy?”

Qui-Gon’s response may have been a ‘yes’, it was hard to tell with how eager his lips were to close on her toes, sucking them into the wet warmth of his mouth, worshipping them with his tongue and lips. 

Her amusement with this new development lasted for only a few moments, the muffled sounds of his pleasure apparently awakening a desire for more in her. With one foot anchored perfectly in Qui-Gon’s mouth, all she had to do was pull herself closer. The hoverchair obliged silently, and Qui-Gon obliged noisily, diving into her flesh with such eagerness that he pulled the ropes holding him down taut, causing the loop around the base of his neck to dig into his flesh as he struggled to get closer, spreading his knees wider, his ringed cock struggling to fill, held in check by unyielding steel and his Master’s wishes. 

He was _such_ a sight. And that wasn’t even beginning to describe the sounds. The sounds he made as he buried his face between Tahl’s thighs, the soft choked-off grunts of need and delicious pain, knowing he wouldn’t get to come until Tahl was present enough again to use her hands on him and hit those pressure points hard enough to get the ring off him, knowing his own hands were out of commission and all he was right now was a worshipping mouth, and at least going by the sounds Tahl was making, he was a _marvelous_ worshipping mouth…

… and by that point Obi-Was was usually too busy with his own body to pay attention to what was happening in the recording. He hadn’t yet made it to the end, to be honest. 

***

Back in the real world, Obi-Wan turned the ring over in his hand, feeling the heavy smooth metal warm against his skin. Buhn had all but tasked him with putting it on and feeling out its limitations as it were, flanked by helpful hints about emergency pressure points and reassuring banter about how a small piece of steel was certainly included in the consultation fee and how even if one wasn’t a bottom by nature, experiencing the constricted blood flow was considered pleasurable by males along the whole spectrum of practitioners of sexual dominance and submission.

Mostly, Obi-Wan knew he needed to feel what Qui-Gon had felt. And, ideally, needed to make him feel that way again.

With a sigh, he glanced at the chronometer, and slipped the ring back into the pocket concealed in the lining of the purple-and-green drapery that served as his outer garment for the night, then slung the whole textile mess over the chair that doubled as eating space in his tiny Knight’s quarters. He debated making himself a cup of cha, then decided a warm shower was more likely to get him closer to getting at least a couple of hours of decent sleep before the day ahead.

It was the typical working day for a Jedi on a brief Temple rotation between missions; between taking classes and teaching classes, he knew his schedule would keep him from thinking too much about what he had just learned. 

And afterwards, when he was once again alone in his quarters, he would continue his research towards what he had privately started referring to as his ‘Master plan’.

***

Of course, the one thing that could always be counted on to foil a master plan was a Master.

In this case, Master Jinn. Who had invited himself to Obi-Wan’s for a cup of cha and a friendly discussion on the current crop of Initiates and how much longer Qui-Gon would be able to resist the increasing weight of the Council leaning on him to take another apprentice when he quite enjoyed not having a youngling dogging his heels.

Under normal circumstances, Obi-Wan would have enjoyed that kind of casual conversation. Today, he found himself sipping cup after cup of cha, hoping the steam would help mask his involuntary reaction to Qui-Gon’s proximity.

_Those massive wrists, held tight by turns of unyielding rope._  
_His own fist, closing on the hair tail at the back of Qui-Gon’s head._  
_You smell amazing, Qui._

As a result, he’d had to excuse himself more frequently than normal to relieve his bladder, and, all told, his unruly flesh that was refusing to remain decorously tucked inside his underwear. Madame Buhn’s lesson on pressure points was certainly coming in handy.

The tell-tale clanking and tuneless humming from the kitchenette corner of the room did not bode well. It sounded like Qui-Gon had decided more cha was in order.

***

Under normal circumstances, he would have inquired if his former Padawan was feeling unwell, given the unusual amount of herbal cha he was consuming and the slightly feverish flush that made him release part of said beverage right back out into the air again through the pores of his face.

But Obi-Wan had felt healthy in the Force, a little excited perhaps, but it seemed to be a diffuse, urgent kind of happiness that was bubbling behind his privacy shields, so he had let it go and focused on the conversation at hand, hard though it was to maintain a civil facade when really, the reason he was so reluctant to take on another apprentice was that he wasn’t finished thinking about his last one. And the things he would love to propose to said former apprentice would be best enjoyed without the ever-present concern that a pre-teen Padawan might walk in any moment. 

Well, visiting Obi-Wan’s new quarters was a first step, he told himself sternly. _You are making progress, Jinn. Just not as quickly as you would like. For now, you are making more cha._

“Ow!” _Sith_.

That had not been his best showing of Masterly control. Hot water everywhere. Most lamentably on his left hand, which stung fiendishly. He reached for the first available soft item to soak the scalding water up as he lunged for the cold water tap, and as the merciful coolness of the running water soaked through the purple fabric into his irritated skin, he noticed that something had fallen out of whatever this decidedly un-Obi-Wan-like item of clothing was.

He had to suppress another gasp when he saw what it was, and he had picked it up and slipped it inside his belt pouch before he had even finished the thought. 

Whoever had brought this cloak and the… ring clearly hadn’t got around to using iit for its intended purpose. The thought of Obi-Wan wearing it (the ring, not the cloak. The _ring_.) made Qui-Gon’s head spin. Obi-Wan wearing it for whoever this cloak belonged to, possibly. Since they had brought it along and then not used it. _What a waste_.

Then again… 

He slowly unwound his scalded hand from its makeshift bandage, dripping cold water all over the floor. It didn’t look nearly as bad as it felt, and Qui-Gon had to admit that some of the sting was from finding Obi-Wan to be… playing with someone else. 

Playing the _submissive_ part with someone else. 

Watching a whole garden of lovingly tended fantasies wilt with that realization cut deep; and the small shoots of hope, of companionship with a fellow practitioner of the art of dominance and submission, while delightful, were a poor comfort right now. 

Obi-Wan’s soft, caring gaze as he came back from the ‘fresher to take in the sorry sight of his former Master was too much, entirely so. Fortunately for him, Obi-Wan had to admit to not having a stash of bacta in his new quarters yet, and so he had been able to make his excuses and flee, leaving behind an empty cha pot and an empty pocket in a purple and green cloak. 

His hand had stopped throbbing by the time he got to his quarters, and a few dabs of cooling bacta gel quickly soothed the rest of the sting.

His hand was fully up to its task within minutes.

The steel warmed to his touch, tightening perfectly around his swelling flesh as he pictured himself on his knees, confined in a ring that matched Obi-Wan’s, struggling gently against artful bonds, straining to get a good hard look at his fellow submissive, kneeling next to him, radiant in his restrained strength, eager to serve whatever shadowy figure was keeping them both on their knees.

He tried to imagine Tahl, beautiful self-assured Tahl, but the bright glare in Obi-Wan’s eyes kept breaking his concentration. Under those lashes shone something that.... No, he just could not picture Obi-Wan as a demure submissive. Not even as a sassy one, fishing for a beating that would turn his perfect bottom bright pink.

‘Perfect bottom’, when applied to Obi-Wan, simply did not transcend the confines of his physical attributes. 

If he was truthful, what he was imagining was Obi-Wan’s hand putting that ring on him. Obi-Wan’s hand cinching the rope tight around his wrists and upper arms. Obi-Wan’s hand on the end of the leash, and Obi-Wan’s voice commanding him to kneel and - 

_Obi-Wan’s voice?!_

*** 

_Fled the room as if scalded._ Obi-Wan snorted. It was just like Qui-Gon to _actually_ scald himself in the process, thereby lending an additional air of plausibility to the proceedings. 

The small spike of emotion that had escaped his shields in the unguarded moment just after hot water met skin… alarm, yes. Surprise. Disappointment, which made no sense. 

And _lust_.

When he straightened out the crumpled and now soaked mess that had been Bant’s cloak, the pieces fell into place. The ring was missing. Which, given that he had not moved the cloak since bringing it home last night with the ring very much in place, could only mean one thing. 

_Qui-Gon_.

In all honesty, he had imagined his confession of mutual attraction with Qui-Gon to take place over a shared cup of cha, possibly laced with some courage-boosting brandy. Maybe a nice dinner or some casual touches that turned from innocent sparring to something more. Maybe even candlelight.

He had certainly not imagined yelling through a closed door because his former Master had _stolen his cockring_.

Part of him still wanted to run away, even as most of the rest of him was drawing a deep breath and summoning his confident Jedi voice.

“What in the Sith hells do you think you’re doing with _my_ property, Master?”

Muffled noises on the other side of the door, coming closer. Obi-Wan could feel unbelievably badly shielded embarrassment bleeding through the remnants of their bond. And a heat that made his skin tingle.

When the door finally opened, Obi-Wan found himself pulled inside before he had found the breath to say another word. Qui-Gon Force-slammed the door behind him and stared at him, silent and wild-eyed, his tunics dishevelled, his leggings pushed down to mid-thigh, and his cock rampantly hard and barely held in check by a familiar steel ring that bit into the thick flesh.

“This is mine,” Obi-Wan said, pointing at the evidence. His voice was not as steady as he would have liked given the onslaught of sensation that washed over him at the sight of Qui-Gon… like this. Hard. Needing. _Ringed_.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon replied softly. “Yes it is.” As he cast his eyes down, Obi-Wan watched the sunrise of a smile spread across the Master’s coarse features. Then, as if in slow motion, Qui-Gon lowered himself to his knees.

“I… I have seen what you did with Master Tahl,” Obi-Wan blurted. 

“Ancient history,” Qui-Gon laughed. The blush on his face was flooding down his neck and chest. It was a devastatingly good look on him. Especially from above.

“Is it?” Obi-Wan felt drunk, felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

“Well, my knees are much creakier nowadays,” Qui-Gon admitted, though no amount of crinkly smile or attempted banter could defuse this bomb of a situation - of _Qui-Gon fucking Jinn hard and on his knees._

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, opened his mind wide, and reached out a hand to fist in Qui-Gon’s mussed hair. 

“Mine?” he asked, firmly. 

“Yours,” Qui-Gon breathed. “Fuck yes. Please.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t suppress a laugh of pure joy as he reflexively tightened his hold.

“Sorry,” Qui-Gon croaked, swallowing. “Fuck yes, _Master._ ”


End file.
